Amends
by florencelouise
Summary: My first fanfic - set shortly after viv dies, this is an alternative ending to episode 3.06, where Gene and Alex finally clear the air about the ongoing tension and mistrust between them. Please R&R! I'm new to this :


**Set right after Viv has died… sort of an alternative ending to 3.06. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with the ending, but I feel this would have also been a possibility. My first fanfic, hence why I am starting with the familiar territory of actual episodes before embarking on my own stories. Just some personal musing I had. I hope you enjoy.**

The short journey home hadn't registered. At no point between finding Gene crouched beside Viv's dead body, and arriving back at her flat, had Alex really felt conscious of anything. She was overwhelmed by her numbness, by this defeat. As if on autopilot, unlocked her door and walked in. Closing the door, she paused to rest her forehead against it. She wasn't sure if she was ready to be home – her 1980s home – which was now becoming unnervingly familiar. It was too cosy, the warm lights too comforting. She wasn't sure she could handle the comfort. It didn't feel appropriate that she should feel it at a time like this, and especially not in this world. This wasn't her world, not really, but it killed her to feel that it had become it.

She flicked the lights on and turned around. The dreadfully tacky sofa, the old fashioned television. They were at once so alien, so strange, but also hers, completely hers.

The sob that broke from her throat surprised her. She inhaled deeply, and let out a huge wail as she fell to her knees. Her mind and body seemed to be utterly disconnected; she felt for a moment that she, Alex Drake, criminal psychologist, had really no idea what was causing her body to convulse and writhe in grief.

And then it all hit her. A multitude of mixed emotions and feelings, blocked out thoughts and anxieties all came flooding to the forefront of her consciousness at once. This world that had initially frightened her, brought her to the depths of despair, had become her world, her life. Those who were in it, whether they were figments or what, felt real. They had become real. Everything here had become utterly real, and to lose Viv – never a great friend, but a warm, admirable acquaintance all the same – was straw that broke the camels back. She cried because he was gone, because he would no longer be the first to see her every morning in the station. She cried because his death was so tragically unnecessary and awful, completely awful. More than anything, perhaps, she cried because it had suddenly dawned on her just how attached to this world she had really become. The fact that she grieved meant that this world mattered to her on a level that she had previously refused to acknowledge to herself. She cried because she cared, and she shouldn't care. She should not be grieving over Viv, she should be grieving the loss of her real life, her daughter. She cried because since awakening from her Gene-induced coma, she had lost all connection to her life back home. She knew nothing – there was no contact getting through to her, no doctors, nothing. No Molly. She felt most of the time like she'd forgotten Molly. She cried because she felt like she had iven up, that she would never get home. Worse, it felt like her previous desperation to get back to her daughter was waning: she reminded herself from time to time that she was investigating Sam Tyler's death to get home, but it was almost like she'd forgotten why.

She felt like she was losing all that was dear to her, and that much of it was her own fault. Admittedly, getting shot in 2008 wasn't her fault, but the tension that existed in 1983 was borne of her own doubt, and her own mistrust. She was losing, or had perhaps already lost Gene. The unbearable, tactless, foul mouthed, stubborn, set in his ways, sexist, kind, good hearted, courageous, selfless, unnervingly handsome Gene. She couldn't remember at what point she had began to doubt him – she had no real reason to. He had gone above and beyond to save her life more times than she cared to remember. He did nothing but protect his team, by any means necessary. Alex would never have suspected him of murder. The idea… it had come from Keats. Alex didn't understand why Keats had such an influence on her mind… she didn't understand. And she was losing her constant, her rock, in her obsessive search for the truth.

She tried to breathe. She felt like she was hyperventilating. A surge of guilt and shame ran through her body and momentarily made her rigid with self-disgust. She thought back to her arrival at the scene of Viv's death, Gene crouched by his side, face white with grief, shock, and remorse. Alex had never seem him look so beaten, so fragile, so close to breaking down. In that stolen glance, she knew. She knew that Gene was not capable of murdering a fellow officer, a friend, and certainly not Sam. It wasn't in him/ He had rage, and violence, the ability to be incredibly hurtful, but not murder. He only had it in him to do what he _felt _was right, even if he got it wrong.

Alex felt awful. Gene had just lost a colleague and friend in viv, in the most awful way imaginable. He would no doubt be feeling completely responsible. And Alex…. She had been torturing him, refusing to trust him. Allowing Keats to wind him up. For what? Why? She felt like a fool. What was to be made of Keats was for another time, but she knew now she had to make amends with Gene.

A soft knock brought her out of her stupor, her crucial self-analysis. Alex shook her head lightly, tried to readjust to her surroundings. She was curled up into a ball, rocking backwards and forewords on her rug. She breathed slowly, attempted to compose herself. Brushing her short hair off her wet, gaunt face, she rose unsteadily to her feet. The knock came again, and Alex jumped before slowly approaching her door.

Clearing her throat, she leaned into the door a little. 'Who is it?' she asked softly, berating herself for not simply telling whoever it was that she was busy. She was in no fit state. She had too much to think about, to digest.

'It's me,' came Gene's voice, quiet, and dark. Alex felt a thud in her chest and she inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. Before allowing herself to think about the situation, she took the door of the latch and opened it.

They stood in the doorway for a few moments, gazing at each other with a loaded silence. He looked awful, and Alex couldn't bear to look: she didn't want to look at him and recognise the agony on his face, she knew it would be too much for her to see him like that. Looking down, she moved aside to let him through.

He walk many paces. He stood in the middle of her lounge, head down, shaking slightly, hands shoved nervously in his pockets.

'Are you…' Alex began, trying to say something, anything, before he looked up and punished her with his expression. 'Are you… aare you….' – Gene looked up, and Alex's voice faltered as she began to sob again – '…alright?'

His face looked grey, but strangely young. His eyes were wide, lost, completely broke, and child like in their innocent confusion. His lips were set in a grim line, or pouting in frustration. His eyes fell to the floor in embarrassment, before looking straight at Alex.

She had never seen him like this. He looked so bewildered, so… so _sad_, like a child refused a toy and given no explanation, no reason why, no understanding. Just loss, just inexplicable loss, and guilt – feeling like he'd done something wrong.

Alex wept in front of him. 'Gene,' she tried again. A flash of concern fell across his features. No, Alex thought. She had the making-up to do, it was Gene that needed her this time.

She went to him, put her arms around his broad, sagging shoulders, and pulled his head down to her shoulder. They crumpled into each other. Gene wasn't crying, but he was lost in Alex's embrace. She cried into his neck as they both came to their knees with the intensity of it all.

'I'm so sorry Gene,' she whispered between sobs, kissing him just below the ear. 'I'm so so sorry. This wasn't your fault. This wasn't your fault…. And I'm so sorry, for doubting you… please, please forgive yourself Gene.' She paused as her lifted his head off her neck and hung his head before her, refusing to meet her eyes. 'Please forgive me, Gene… I know you didn't kill Sam…. I always knew, I don't know why I've pursued this… I don't know… I'm so sorry.'

Eventually, his eyes met hers. His steely grey eyes, his beautiful eyes framed by his beautiful lashes, were tired. They were sad, defeated, lost, but not angry. He shook his head slightly. 'I don't know Bolly, I just… I don't know,' he sighed. 'Everything's shit, its all falling to shit… It's all being taken away, my kingdom, my men, you… everything… it's being taken away Bolly.' He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. 'Feels like something wants me out…trying to rip me to bits, Bolls… everyone's turnin' against the Gene Genie….'

'I'm not!' Alex cut him short, desperately. 'I'm not, Gene…'

Gene's face seethed, and he began to pull away from her. He rose suddenly and stood above her. 'Oh pull the other one, Alex,' he snapped. 'You haven't trust me since you bloody woke up. You've done nothing but doubt me, turn away from me, lie to me.' He jabbed a finger at her as she too rose to her feet. 'And worst of all… you went behind me back. You conspired with that smarmy, slimy bastard prick Keats!'

Alex began to speak, but he cut her off. 'Bloody hell, Bolly,' he turned away from her, running his hands through is sandy, unwashed hair as he raged. 'You and I…. Bolly I though that despite everything, we trusted each other, we looked out for each other.' Glancing at her, Alex's heart broke as she saw the sadness in his face, the longing. 'What happened? When did I ever, EVER give you reason to think I was a bastard murderer! Do I mean that little to you? That as soon as some dickhead rubber healer who talks out his bastard arse comes along… that you trust him?'

Alex gulped. She didn't know what to say. The hurt was palpable. She wondered if this was it… if there was nothing she could say. That, whether she went back home or not, this was how she would leave it with Gene. It was an unbearable notion. As much as reconciling with him should not be a priority – Molly was the priority, surely – he had become one. This man who she had been tryin for three years to escape mant too much to her. He had her heart. He did, and she wished he didn't.

'Gene please,' she wept desperately. 'Gene… listen… listen to me… I've been foolish, I've just… I've been so lost, and confused, and you've always been the one thing in this world that has made me doubt myself…' she trailed off, not entirely sure where this was going. 'But I always believed in you, trusted you… but… but Keats… he seemed to know something about me, about you… about how I could get home… I suppose I was ready to believe anything, to get home.'

He didn't respond, just watched her, hurt, but curious, wanting her to go on.

'Gene, if I leave here… and that's an if… I don't want to have lost you,' she tried again. She wasn't articulating herself well. None of her feelings were coming across as they should. Words were insufficient, and short of getting to her knees and begging, she didn't know what to do. 'Just please, please forgive me Gene… please can e start again. Rebuild this… this mess…'

'What if there's nothing to rebuild, Bolly?' he said simply, not really expecting an answer, because it wasn't really a question. 'What if this shit has gone too far. Viv's dead, Bolly, under my watch. I failed.' He watched her for a moment, his features softening. 'As for you and I, Bolls… I'm tired of this, I'm tired of fighting.'

Alex moved towards him, unconsciously, slowly. 'Me too, Gene,' she said softly, wiping her face. 'Please… let this…. Let's not let Viv's death… pull us apart even more.' She began to cry again. It felt like she would never stop. 'Please let's just trust each other again.. I can't lose you Gene, not you…I'm so sorry, I miss us, I want us to be…' she fought for words, '…unbreakable, like you said we were. And we should be…'

And suddenly he'd pulled her into his arms. She shook against him, and cried deeply and with abandon into his coat. His hands rubbed her back softly, kindly. They stayed like that for a while.

'Let's stop fighting, Gene,' she began again. 'I can't do this without you… I need you.'

He was silent for a few moments, before saying in a barely audible whisper, 'Me too, Bolls. I think it's a fact we've both been avoiding… it's all wrong, Bolly, all wrong. This is you, and me. My silly posh tart of an inspector, mine… and me.' He pulled away from her slightly, and gazed at her. Alex didn't know what kind of a mess she must've looked as Gene gently wiped the tears off her face and kissed her forehead. 'I've missed you, Bolls.'

'I missed you too, Guv.' She smiled weakly. They continued to gaze at one another. There was something neither one of them was willing to say, something obvious, and palpable, clear to everyone, and now to themselves. They just couldn't say it. But one of them needed to, if this was to be made right.

This was ridiculous. It was all ridiculous. How absurd her life was, she realised with a bizarre twinge of amusement. Successful police officer shot, and is sent back to the 1980s. It was completely ludicrous. It was equally ludicrous that she was deeply in love with the centre of this parallel world. She attempted to stifle a laugh, but failed.

Baffled, he frowned at her as she continued to laugh to herself. 'Oh Gene,' she said, 'Oh, we are fools. We are such fools, you and I.'

His eyes urged an explanation. She exhaled. 'Because you… you and I… or at least…. I can't presume to speak for you… you are my enigma,' she began, 'But as ridiculous, and impossible as it is, or should be… I…I lo-'

'I know,' he interrupted, quickly. 'But don't say it… no words Bolly. Thoss words, they don't mean anything.' He smiled affectionately at her. 'They're for other people, people who don't really feel anything at all… but not us. We're more than that, bolly… we're beyond that. We don't need words. We just need to know.'

Tears streamed down her face, but it didn't feel like she was crying. He kissed her softly, gently. It wasn't passionate, fiery, lustful, as it might have been had it happened three years ago. But that would come later. The answers she sought, about Sam, about her role here, about what Gene really meant… they would come later. The repercussions of Viv's tragic and untimely demise would be for tomorrow. Everything else could wait for tomorrow.

For tonight, Alex would make silent and gently amends with Gene. They would be at peace, with each other, cocooned in her flat, in their new openness and honesty about one another. No more words were necessary, they had ceased to mean anything. What they needed was the quiet comfort of one another, and nothing more, not now.


End file.
